Serenity: Consuming Vengeance
by Batguy
Summary: A year after Serenity, the crew find themselves torn asunder by VENGEANCE. Mal wants vengeance on the new Operative who's killing off Browncoats. Zoe blames certain Alliance members for Wash's death. And the Alliance seek payback on Mal!
1. Chapter 1

_**SERENITY**_

_**CONSUMING VENGEANCE**_

_**Disclaimer: Serenity/ Firefly and all related pre-existing characters don't belong to me. Enough with that da bian huah, and on with the ruttin' story already!**_

_**CHAPTER ONE: PURPLE VENGEANCE**_

Captain Malcolm Reynolds glanced at the cards in his hand, and sighed. He sat with Jayne Cobb and Zoë Washburne, absorbed in a tricky card game. It had been a whole damn year of peace, he reflected… since River Tam, who now sat across the table reading a hefty book and turning the pages faster than Mal could blink, had annihilated a mass of Reavers, since the monstrosities had been wiped out by the Alliance… and since the Alliance's own _Operative_ had turned on them, and let the crew of _Serenity_ go free… and it seemed like it had been that long since any of them had seen Simon Tam or Kaywinnet Lee 'Kaylee' Frye. They rarely seemed to venture from their _rutting_ room, except when the team had urgent need of their medic or engineer.

"Uh… don't mean t' intrude here or whatever, Mal, but… you gonna lay a gorram card or wha'?" Mal stared blankly at Jayne and then said:

"Oh, right… I'll raise to…" And then their world exploded! Mal felt himself thrown from his seat and slammed into a wall… everything went black. After a while, Reynolds mumbled:

"Jayne? Zoë? Gorram it… what just happened?"

"E.M.P, cap'n," came a call from the door.

_Well, t__aikong suoyou de xingqiu saijin wo de pigu… _thought Mal, _If it ain't Kaylee Frye finally 'merged from her ruttin' quarters._ What he actually said was:

"Hey, you got that gorram medic up and out witcha?"

"I'm here." Simon did not look particularly amused.

"Well, that's shiny, ain't it? Now, do yer ruttin' job an' check on Zoë and Jayne- in that gorram order! Kaylee, who shot at us, gorram it!?"

"Alliance craft." It was River speaking, standing in the doorway when moments ago she had been at the table, which was now a mere pile of wooden wreckage in the centre of the room. Her eyes were wide but she showed no fear, "Ten of them. Closing in…"

The three tall men in black strode up to the receptionist of a dark, gloomy inn, deep within the rancid slums of the third moon of Tybalt V.

"We are here to see a Mr. Reeves. John Reeves. I believe he is a resident here." The first man, a pale figure with a small sprawl of blond hair, spoke calmly and determinedly.

"Never heard o' no John Reeves," replied the receptionist.

"Oh, don't lie to us, madam… we _know_ he is here," interjected a man with mid-length black hair, garbed in a purple overcoat, "And he is a fugitive from the Alliance."

"Ain't no browncoats hidin' out here, mac."

"Did we say he was a browncoat, dear?" The third man, who wore a brimmed hat that cast his face in shadow and large sunglasses, moved a step closer to the woman so as to cast his long shadow over her, "Where is the man calling himself Reeves?"

"Did you think I would really be stupid enough to try hiding from you, gentlemen?"

The three strangers turned to face a hulking black man, who clutched two _katana_ swords.

"Ah, old friend," the first inquisitor nodded his head and then pointed a knife at 'John Reeves', "Did you really think the Alliance wouldn't seek retribution for your betrayal?"

"'Course not. That's why I was ready for you punks." And the former Alliance Operative smiled cockily, and threw a katana. The three Operatives dodged:

"_You're ours, traitor!"_

John Reeves burst out into the street, running full pelt through the alleys of the small town of Jeopardy, running on and on…

Suddenly, he sprinted full on into an outstretched spear, and then slid back of the end, eyes glazing over.

"_Liu kou shui de biao zi he hou zi de er zi_" hissed the blond Operative, "You _stupid BASTARD_!"

And then Reeves struck the blond man on the wrist, knocking the spear away, and staggered through the streets, on and on… desperate to escape…

"Not so fast, Reeves!"

John saw the black haired foe drop from a low-slung roof. He nicknamed the fellow _Long John_ for his eye patch, and swivelled to avoid a hurled knife.

The blond came up behind him: _Goldilocks._

"Yer trapped, you ruttin' son of a doxy!"

The final man, _Shades_, aimed a shotgun and fired. Reeves leapt aside, but the shell punched through his leg and he fell, slamming into the dirt…

The last thing the former Operative known as John Reeves saw was Goldilock's swinging spear…


	2. Chapter 2

_**SERENITY**_

_**CONSUMING VENGEANCE**_

_**Disclaimer: Serenity/ Firefly and all related pre-existing characters don't belong to me. Enough with that da bian huah, and on with the ruttin' story already!**_

_**CHAPTER TWO: Consumption and Vengeance**_

Tristan Elsko lay in his bed, rifle propped in his arms. He couldn't sleep, but he tried to give the impression of it. In truth, he was gazing around the room, and trying to control the urge of the coward within him that said: _run, run like the gorram blazes… go to the Alliance, go to the mobs, go any-ruttin'-where but just don't stay here. RUN!_

But another part of Tristan Elsko knew that if he set foot outside of that rutting door, then he was, not to put too fine a gorram point on it, _humped to the depths of hell._ And if he was humped either way, he'd rather not go and soil his gorram smooth pajamas in the presence of some purple-bellied son of a doxy. Hell, in his day, no proud, brown-coated Independent captain like himself would've chosen groveling on their rutting knees before the Alliance ahead of going down with a rifle in their hands and faith in their honest heart.

The door crashed inwards. Tristan's eyes widened in terror, and he cocked his weapon.

"Tristan Albertson Elsko." The voice was harsh, high, cold and, frankly, terrifying, "Do not struggle. Do not fight. This battle shall be non-existent or it shall be very, very short. You hear me, Elsko?"

A man of Cantonese origin stepped into the room, garbed in a purple suit. He had short but matted, untidy white hair, and held a scimitar of some kind.

"You hear me, Elsko?" The Asian glowered Tristan, who forced his legs to propel him up onto the floor, rifle poised:

"Sure, I hear ya shiny, _sah gwa_, which is all the more reason fer me to blow a hole in your purple belly. Shiny?"

"I hear you, Elsko, but I also shall ignore your idiocy."

"_Wo de tian a._ I don't speak no idiocy. If there's any idiocy t'be spoken in _my_ place, it'll be you who speaks it, Alliance boy."

"Oh, I don't work for the Alliance officially… not yet. But then again, soon I won't even exist. Go hwong tong. Now you die, little white…"

"NI TA MA DE!" Elsko whirled his gun as he dived to dodge a slash from the scimitar, and he fired a slug into Elsko's chest. The man laughed maniacally, and kept moving, as blood spouted from the wound, "Reavers are nothing compared to me, brown-coat!"

"Well, considerin' the Reavers are all dead, thanks to a bunch o' me old browncoat pals, I guess I c'n die in peace. Shiny?" And with that, Tristan Elsko rammed the barrel of his rifle into his own mouth and, with a final wink, pressed the trigger…

"_Sah gwa!" _The man screamed in anger as Elsko fell back, dead… The door burst open and the three Operatives stood there:

"Andreas Densk."

"Yes?" The Asian stared up at them.

"You are ready now. Ready to shed any name and title… ready to assume a greater role," said Goldilocks, "Shiny?"

"Yes… I believe it is… _shiny_." The Asian grinned.

"Excellent." Shades nodded, "But you must never forget. Vengeance can consume a man. Do not be consumed by your thirst… merely possess what you can to drive you on. For our next target is indeed a browncoat of some caliber."

Shades extended a holographic image of a tall, muscular, square-jawed man, with brown hair:

"_Malcolm Reynolds."_


End file.
